by Tobias Roote
He felt peculiar looking down at himself. He had identical features to the dead man, even down to the sickle birthmark on his inner arm, a throwback to old days before gene manipulation resolved all damaged DNA. Satisfied, he closed the shower screen hiding the body double’s corpse within, and stepping out of the bathroom, made his way to the bedroom closet.
The security of the apartment would have monitored the life signs of the target, but then also recognised identical life signs in the asset. It would then assume an error in it’s programming and ignore both. When it only picked up a single life sign coming out of the bathroom it would accept that its sensors were working again and continued passive monitoring. The fact the AI had been compromised for just such an eventuality would probably never be discovered.
Selecting clothing from the wardrobe, the asset assembled all of the necessary garments which were tailor-made and so would fit him perfectly, then re-dressed himself in the victim's clothes. Filling his pockets with the deceased’s ID and TXCards, he knew he wouldn’t be needing to make any transactions, but they would send alarms to the security forces if left behind, and out of reach of the owners bio-signature. He didn’t need that kind of attention this morning. His work was only half complete. He checked his appearance and was satisfied when the man in the shower looked back at him.
He made his way down the corridor to the kitchen area and taking out the silver laser, placed it into the atomiser that dealt with all waste and watched as it disappeared down the chute. It would explode when it was disintegrated, but the system was designed to manage such events and it would log only the merest data of the gun’s destruction. Nothing would be traced back to him.
The last thing he did before leaving the apartment was to press his hand against the security plate. When it checked green, he spoke to the microphone above it, identifying himself verbally. “Director Preston. Maintain full lock down, No access.”
“Confirmed lock down,” the security AI accepted the combination of bio readings, print and voice, confirming him as the bona fide resident of the penthouse apartment. It released the security lock on the outer door, allowing him to exit. Had it not accepted him, the system would have gone into lock down and security services would be summoned, such was the security of the apartment.
Take AW Command
The air-car, which represented an expensive luxury befitting the status of his victim, was waiting when he arrived at the strip outside the elevator. Having identified him visually as Director Preston then further confirmed by bio-hand-scan on the door handle, the air-car allowed him to enter the passenger area. It then took off and whisked him across the space station towards the space port complex.
He needed to update his sponsor and activated an ear-bud transmitter.
“Phase one completed,” he gruffly reported.
“Proceed with phase two,” came the immediate response. The receiver went dead as the sponsor’s end shut off.
Now, he had nothing to do for ten minutes which wasn’t good. His nerves, which had been holding up well now began to wear him down. There was a lot resting on the next thirty minutes and if he failed in his mission he would be dead. He reassured himself that all was perfectly in order and success of his mission was going to be simply down to timing, something he could easily handle.
Glancing outside he absently noted the increased traffic flow as he progressed toward the space-port. It was on the edge of the station, separated by a high wall to ensure the incoming ships didn’t bypass internal security or allow their crew free run of the city. The terminal where passengers disembarked came up on his left where a passenger liner was in the process of disgorging large numbers of visitors. They would be here for a few days, then on again to their next port of call. He wondered what it would be like to board a liner and travel to other worlds. Perhaps when this mission was over he would get the chance.
The strobe light of the distant airlock system flashed. It seemed too small to allow entry to the enormous resting liner, but it was all down to perspective. The lock was a mile from the terminal where dozens of ships hung between the two points, suspended in the zero gravity zone while ‘for hire’ fenders offloaded and loaded their cargo. It was a slower process than landing or docking, but much cheaper than paying the exorbitant fees of the port. Space being at a premium and the ships being very bulky it made sense to keep them at a distance. There were strict rules of safety that meant many of the poorly maintained vessels out there weren’t permitted to approach any closer to a habitation zone.
The air-car began to descend and turn towards a sectioned-off area that was their destination. The fake Preston prepared himself to give the performance of his life - literally.
The car deposited him outside a heavily fortified security tunnel The logo and motif above the darkened pit stated its claim as, ‘Alliance of Worlds’ with a two-world handshake signifying the partnership of the Core and Febrillo Alliance. The AW provided mutually beneficial services to both sides helping to keep the peace through its neutral conduct in policing clone worlds. Preston was one of the Directors of AW and the asset knew that entering the enemy’s den would be the ultimate test and also lead directly to his next target.
He walked calmly up to the duty officers, both of them in battledress and wielding heavy duty laser carbines. He nodded towards them as Preston did every morning, according to his months of monitoring. Then, accessing the tunnel using his bio-signature and the purloined ID card, he entered the complex. He sensed eyes on him, but dared not look in case it gave him away. He had memorised every inch of the place and knew exactly where to go, but it still filled him with apprehension. The sweat which he had conditioned himself not to suffer, started to run down the back of his neck to spite him. He inwardly cursed, would the sensors note that ?
Getting himself under control he continued to walk through with feigned confidence, avoiding eye contact with others, but not so blatantly obvious as to draw attention to himself. He made his way through each security checkpoint to the main corridor leading to the main elevator. To everyone he met, including security, he was who he was supposed to be, Director Preston. Unfortunately, the systems here, like anywhere in the Empire were not infallible.
He came to a door with a red warning line around the edge and checking carefully that nobody was paying him any attention, he went through it quickly and found himself in a smaller darkened corridor with only one exit at its end. Walking quickly to it, he pressed his thumb on its lock plate, heard the switches click open as the locks disengaged and a light turned green. Without opening the door or checking further he turned about and returned to the main doorway to the corridor.
“Phase two complete,” he quietly uttered into the transmitter.
“Continue.”
Now, looking out through a tiny gap in the door, he could see two maintenance workers making their way towards him. He waited while the volume of their talking increased then reduced to a murmur as they passed the doorway. He then slipped out and followed them at a slower pace so that he wouldn’t seem to have suddenly appeared in their peripheral view.
He had no immediate concerns over discovery, as the director wandering around AW Command’s main thoroughfare was a normal event. At the lift his fingerprint activated the elevator and the door closed. Travelling alone, he stepped out at the uppermost level where only the most senior personnel had access. Others would have been halted in the elevator at ground level and security would have been alerted.
He moved swiftly through the corridor, as though late for an appointment which, in fact he was close to being, ‘timing’ he thought ‘is everything’.
He opened the door to his office to see his second target was waiting for him. Perfect !
Giving a quick glance back to check the corridor was clear, he looked briefly at the surveillance camera focused on this section of the floor. Its flicking red light confirmed it was active. Excellent !
Entering the room, the asset closed the d
oor behind him without taking his eyes off the occupant. A well-groomed middle-aged executive who shared this floor with Preston and the other directors was poring over a data tablet. Relaxed and preoccupied with something he was reading, he paid scant attention to the asset’s arrival.
The fake Preston dissembled to cover his lateness, not that it mattered, but would keep suspicion from him.
“I’m sorry I'm late,Vangher. The shower had a blockage and I had to call maintenance out.”
“Oh, that’s all right Preston. Let’s get on with the finalisation of the quarterly report shall we ?” Vangher suggested somewhat impatiently. He watched while the asset sat down at Preston’s desk and fumbled at the bio-catch on the top drawer, The asset knowing what had been placed there last night after everyone else had left, felt around until his hand grasped the handle of the weapon. Keeping it in the drawer while he glanced quickly at the clock on the wall, calculating the timing. It’s all in the timing, he thought again as the seconds ticked by.
He heard the beginnings of loud commotion outside the office - shots being fired. An alarm burst into a wavering cadence as phase three began. He’d let in the back-up team and they were now doing their work.
Vangher looked concerned and stood to go to open the door to check on what was going on. His mind had registered the gunfire, but not expecting it to be any form of attack on The AWC was dully thinking it was something harmless.
“Don’t do that, please !” the asset requested.
Vangher turned to him, opening his mouth as if to say something, but finding himself faced with a gun, changed his mind. Then, as if not quite realising his predicament, went on to scold the asset.
“What are you doing, Preston ? That’s a gun ! You know they’re not allowed on this level.”
“I’m afraid that’s no longer your concern, Vangher.” He raised the weapon shooting the surprised Vangher in the head.
As the man dropped to the floor, the asset walked around the desk and shot him twice more in the back of the neck. A further three rounds in the vital organs. It was excessive by his standards, but he had been ordered to make sure the target was not biologically retrievable. He turned back to the desk wiping the gun down, ready to return it to the drawer when he heard the office door suddenly open again, startling him. He turned to see who it was.
A face looked in, and seeing Vangher on the floor dead, smiled. He entered just as the asset dropped the gun back in the drawer and closed it. The asset who was Preston didn’t take his eyes off the new arrival who he was definitely not expecting. Had he been thinking he would have held onto the weapon and pointed it at the newcomer. Instead, his mouth dropped open in surprise as the familiar man smiled at him, confidently walking up to the desk where he was half in the process of half sitting down and half attempting to stand.
“You did well ; I’m very pleased with you.” The man put out a hand, grabbing the asset’s to shake it. The asset was confused which gave the unexpected visitor a momentary advantage. The stranger held onto his hand for a second longer than necessary while his other came out from behind his back holding an armed blaster. Bringing it directly up to the asset’s face, he shot him at point-blank range right between the eyes.
The asset’s remaining features showed complete surprise as he died, his grip on the other man’s hand loosening as he slid from the chair to the floor. The odour of scorched flesh was quickly sucked out by the air-scrubbers. There was little blood, the wound cauterising instantly from the blaster’s heat.
The man chuckled as he looked at the now dead asset, then quietly looked around, checking everything was in order before striding to a part of the wall section set behind the door frame. He carefully removed a small section of partition, turned a lever that was hidden within, then replaced the section. He walked past the two dead bodies and through a hidden door that had now opened behind the desk. When it closed, the joints were so well concealed that all traces of the entrance had vanished leaving two corpses and an unexplained set of circumstances behind it.
Chapter Five
Simos Station
The tall gaunt-looking traveller towered several inches over everyone’s heads as he studied the mass of humanity heaving around him. His dark, simple attire was not current fashion, but the station’s many visitors from planets far and wide across the galaxy did not all share the same tailor, so his strangeness wasn’t considered out of place. His stillness though, was at odds with the tidal shift of people flowing through the market square ; probably because they were all going somewhere while he remained undisturbed at its edge, watching them.
He glared, his face a mask of dark hostility ; a subconscious gesture practised to discourage keen observation. Passers-by with wandering eyes briefly glanced at his features, nervously skirting his personal space in a conscious effort to maintain a healthy distance between him and themselves. Dalt wasn’t concerned. He’d long become inured to the skittishness of others.
Scanning the area, he squinted to better focus on the small things. He checked the positions of the three parties on the other side of the square, they hadn’t moved. He continued scanning, his hooded eyes taking in two other groups surreptitiously quartering the crowds, hunting for one face amongst them. He labelled them as bounty hunters. They were prevalent on every station in the Rift. They had no legal rights here, laws made in the Empire had no bearing here, but it didn’t stop hunting, finding, kidnapping or eliminating a target. ‘Dead or Alive’ was a status nobody wanted stamped on their own poster, but for the hunters it was much easier to transport a corpse that didn’t need air or food. A corpse had no rights and drew no sympathy from other outlaws. Alive they might find a friend, an armed fighter who would aid them ; dead they were a lost cause needing nothing more than a passing glance.
Bounty hunters out here in the Rift were highly dangerous because of the unpredictability and lawlessness of the region. You never knew if they were going to fire into a crowd which would put everyone at risk. They were either mad, crazy or cold calculating types. No normal person would take the job as success wasn’t guaranteed whichever group you belonged to and Dalt knew all about the odds, as well as the players. His job was the hardest, he had to sometimes stand between the hunter and the hunted. Today was going to be one of those days.
Dalt was a clone, a banned mutation. He had been spliced with the DNA of an emergent species of electricity-wielding mammals, and while genetic enhancements gave him a slight speed advantage, his abilities were ideally suited to his career and his disguise was good enough to hide in plain sight.
Not knowing he was mutant, people nonetheless gave him a wide berth, not only because he looked dangerous, but he gave off pheromones that warned people on an unconscious level to avoid him at all costs. It was a side effect of the enhancements, which also gave him longevity and a suppleness that kept him young and strong. Dalt was nearly four hundred years old, but looked no older than mid-forties.
He was a biological weapon. A slim band of discoloured non-human flesh ran down the inner side of both arms. the bands held an electric charge that exited through the palm of his hands. It could kill, but was mostly used to stun victims and render them harmless. As a ‘stunner’ he could reproduce that action many times from the reserves in his body. The more he used it, the more he aged, but time or bathing in the vicinity of static-electricity output would restore him back to full health in a few hours. Dalt was a stable mutant, a rarity, as were his brothers and sisters. As such they were capable of breeding, but their longevity caused them problems with the gestation period, forcing them to resort to cloning and splicing of both partners DNA to forge a child. It then took many years for the offspring to reach an age where their physical training could begin. Their mental learning began as soon as they could register their environment. Dalt had forty such children, two of them were current members of his team.
Dalt had been many things since his release into the world. He was mainly a ‘Watcher’
he maintained a vigilance that spanned decades and his current mission was another clone. One that had been inserted as a sleeper in the Core navy, then later moved into the Alliance of Worlds as an agent. He was perfectly positioned to discover what the Dispersalistas needed to know - were there other human colonies out there ?
His responsibility was to keep an eye on the corporations and the Dispersalista’s enemies. He and his team of Protectors had only this one assignment and they had been at it for a very long time. It was his team that had been forced to rescue the agent when caught by a Core officer. The rescue had been severely limited by the need to retain the agent’s cover - people were watching events out there and fighting against the DIA, the Dispersalistas Intelligence Agency, of which Dalt was a founding member.
Everyone had heard of the DIA, but nobody ever knew if they had ever met, or come across one of their agents. Portrayed as the ultimate bogeyman, the DIA infiltrated every corner of the Empire, with but a single objective - to discover their brothers in other colonies.
Dalt now waited patiently, hovering away from the flow of humanity that headed into the trading centre to sell or buy a cargo, or out to their ships in preparation to load or unload, before moving on to the next destination within the region.
There were over forty such stations within the Rift that were home to billions of people who either ran from, or refused to be part of the empire that controlled the galaxy. As a result, it had become an untamed sanctuary which, for some, represented a safe place or a destination of opportunity. For a few it was a destination of last resort, for many it was just home.
Dalt inclined his head to one side as if listening to something, the tiny insert in his ear the only clue that information was being received. He turned towards the entrance from the docking area, seeing his quarry striding purposefully through. Confident and well built, his grey eyes and strong stubbled jawline were framed by straw coloured hair that was once a military crew-cut but was now long and straggly. He wore no uniform. They would be suspicious of anyone here in formal gear, but the tall man knew this person was not a normal trader. He knew exactly who he was. Philus Grady, Mutant Hunter.
